Three Parts

Part one is the seed.
The tiny thought in a mind of one man or two or three.
That stretches its roots beyond the mental garden it has aged in. And sends tendrils into memories and concepts. Building itself a bower bird nest of information and justification. Warmed and coaxed by the mind or denied it will grow regardless. Unheedful of the brain it will work and convert. That something must be changed. That something isn't right. That there's something I can fix. That there's something I can make right. More right. Or worse. But better for me.

Part two is the flower.
tenuous or terrible growth. Straining at the bonds of the brain container it has come to call home. Till it bursts forth into a tumult of expression, demonstration, creativity. Its a pamphlet or a book lain spine up on the floor, or a conversation with a friend that suggest something more. Something lurking in the darkness just out of understandings reach but there. And now the seed has been transferred and only more questions to be answered can satisfy the new dreamer carrying his seed to his friends and his family to his allies and foes. And he's spreading this idea everywhere he goes.

Part three is the action.
This flowers been bursting and growing and seeding and breeding and refining and evolving and finally people are starting to talk. To make groups and meetings paint signs or sing. Cause now they all kow that something isn't right and all that they know is that the germ needs to be passed on. Like a baton flying from hundreds of hands. Not from runner to runner but from senses to other men. Other people who might carry some of the same ideals. Who've kept the seed down and denied it water and sunlight and all that it needs. Who just need to see another person believe. To show that there's something that they can do to help. To fix something that before didn't need to be fixed.